Open and Undying
by alba9
Summary: Arthur wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night panting heavily. With a shaking sigh, he acknowledges that it wasn't just a nightmare, but rather a memory, a memory from his distant past. Returning to consciousness every now and then, always there, reminding the one wound that never forgets, open and undying. Warning: Dark! Non/con elements, ScotEng.


Open and Undying

"Where the fuck are ye?" The small country ran desperately into the woods for hiding, trying not to be found. The cold breeze of the night blew his hair about and chilled his limbs, he put the green hood over his head and kept on running until he came across a cliff stopping his escape. In a panic, his eyes shifted nervously from the right to the left and just happened to measure the distance down the cliff, looking helplessly for a way out.

"So, there ye are." The dreadful sound of a too well-known voice found him. Turning to face his older brother, England could make out the bright green eyes very similar to his own illuminated by the dim light allowed by the night. The elder ran long fingers through his fiery red hair.

England's heart continued to race fervently and he took an unconscious step back. Scotland snickered. "Where the hell do you think ye're going?" His emerald hues narrowed dangerously while he pushed himself forward and strode over to his youngest sibling. "Leave me alone, you sick bastard..." He tried uselessly to sound threatening. Scotland's eyes lighted up in surprise, "Ooh, do ye think of me that way?" He started walking faster, "Aye, I'm impressed. I never thought ye were bold enough to say that to me." One step forward. One step back. The boy froze at the sight of his brother, without moving as the older man advanced closer and closer. In part, he knew it was reasonably best to stay still; running away in the forest at night to take shelter wouldn't be a brilliant idea: the older country knew the place, the wild nature, and he would have eventually taken him. His entire body tensed as he stood in front of the man: Scotland was already in front of him, and this provided the opportunity for him to grab a handful of the fabric at the back of England's coat and pull him hard towards himself. He had his hair clutched tightly in his hand and yanked the younger up until he was dangling on his tippy toes. Fiery emeralds met pain filled ones as Scotland pulled him forward so that England could smell his brother's breath. "Ye're coming with me, aye?"

Arthur waked up suddenly in the middle of the night panting heavily. His thoughts disordered and confused: for a moment he wasn't even sure where he was. He went to sit up on the bed sides and groaned with the effort. He moved back and forth, and suddenly it all came back to him. He stood still a while longer in the vain, almost childish hope that it was just a terrible fantasy, a nightmare that would soon dissolve and allow him to forget.

With a shaking sigh, he acknowledged that it had not been a bad dream, but rather a memory, a memory from his past. It was always there, usually buried, but returning to consciousness every now and then. Arthur sat up uncertainly and stared with passing but nevertheless puzzled fake interest at the furniture of the room of his home. He tried to shake off the last fog of his nightmare but instead, he started shivering, with every muscle tensed, crouching on the bed like a cat.

Arthur closed his eyes tightly and pressed his hands to his ears as tears started to wet the bed linens. He would not remember that time.

And yet it was a memory he was not able to forget. There was no use to try and suppress it. _Always there, reminding the one wound that never forgets, open and undying, always alive, always inside_.

The closest door was yanked open, England was grabbed around the neck and, sooner than he could process what was happening, he was thrown on the bed.

Scotland climbed over the boy smirking, grabbing his trembling face with a hand. England felt suddenly himself forced to hold still. His eyes opened wide, looking deep into green ones. Hot breath poured over him as the other was about to speak. "Oh no. Are ye scared of me?" He said it mockingly, caressing him almost tenderly. As soon as the words came out, Scotland stared carelessly at his sibling for a moment tracing the younger's throat before chuckling bitterly. He dug his nails into his cheeks and pulled him up higher putting in contact his mouth with his ear, "I'll take pleasure in this, England."

A cold hand pushed him face down onto the bed; Scotland snaked his hands around his body upsetting him and making him giddy. He moaned in pain and discomfort. "Stop this." He squeaked. He snapped his green eyes open since an unwelcome cold hand brushed along his stomach and began to take his clothes off. The boy shivered as the cold air reached his suddenly bare abdomen and his back. England bucked up, twisted his hand in an attempt to reverse the pin, to free himself, but nothing worked; Scotland was an immovable weight on his back. He continued to struggle anyway, jerking against the solid grip on his arms, kicking back with his feet, with his elbows, with whatever he could move, but succeeding in doing little besides scraping his face raw against the bed. Desperation drove him on until he lost all sense of reason until he was reduced to nothing. After flailing for awhile, every muscle in his body was eventually shaking and weak. His body was trembling. A sickness welling up inside of him, consuming him. He was sweating, his skin burning as he strained against the other country, frantically trying to get away. Panic and desperation mixed together and made it impossible for England to see past anything other than the horror that was about to befall him; he stiffened, his muscles bunching and he wished desperately that he could stop this. His instinct screamed, raged; every nerve shouted _run_ , he should had run into the woods at any cost. Scotland looked down at him cruelly, widened his buttocks and approached a single long thin finger to his brother. He entered him with a sneer on his face. England cried out in sudden, unused pain but it wasn't long before a second finger joined the other. Scotland began working the fingers in and out of his younger brother's fragile body, in a slow motion. It burnt. Tears were forming in the child's eyes and he flushed for the way he was being touched: too intimate, too pressing, _wrong_. A sense of wrongness upset him…that atrocious feeling of something…moving inside him…

Scotland stopped, "Mh, nay. That's not the right way..." he sounded disappointed, "I want ye to feel this, brother." At first, England did not understand what the other even meant by that; but he panicked when the fingers slid out of him and he felt something much bigger pressing against his entrance. "Don't. Please, don't". England's panic and absolute dread were evident in his pleading voice as he begged the older man to stop. "I know you wouldn't do this to me..." In spite of everything, in his heart laid still a faint, tiny hope which persuaded him to think that, maybe, he would be able to take his older brother as a role model and that deep down he cared about him. Scotland chuckled. Hell, he was wrong.

The pain was immense. It felt like he was being torn apart. He sank involuntarily onto the bed, tears starting to fall from his eyes as the burning of shortly before became so much worse. He cried out, feeling raw, stretched open to the point where it was too much, unnatural. Pain was shooting up his spine from the growing intrusion. "Aaaahh...t-take it out!" Scotland was an unyielding, awful presence inside of him, stabbing and sharp even without any movement. "P-please...it hurts too much…"

"Already?" One red eyebrow raised in odd surprise, as Scotland observed England with a pathetic look. "But I'm doing this for you." He seemed amused, however, England didn't have the force to get through Scotland's vicious mind, he just wanted this pain and humiliation to finish. "Please." He begged keeping his eyes closed tightly. He sucked on his lips as Scotland pulled out, and the drag of dry skin inside him hurt just as much as the push in did, like sandpaper scraping his skin from the inside. The blonde released a slow sigh of relief, but it didn't last long.

Unexpectedly, Scotland slammed brutally the whole length back in again, in one single violent thrust.

He shoved in, and England shattered underneath him. He gasped in shock, suddenly longing for air; a scream tore through him and he could feel the slow trickle of blood inside him. He was frozen, breathing ponderously as agony was shot through him.

Scotland was not that kind, not wanting the other to adjust, wasting no time before thrusting backward and forward, deeper and deeper.

The agony tipped the younger country over the edge, causing him to scream out again and again. He struggled to catch his breath between his cries in order to breathe through the pain, but the terrible ache was building faster than he could get ahead of.

Scotland increased his pace and began to moan with pleasure, smirking viciously as the small boy whined and writhed in pain under him. He reached his ear, "How do ye feel, _brother_?" he hissed. England flinched, somehow that word sounded too monstrous.

Moving inside him produced a sucking, loathsome sound that had the blonde flinching and wincing, as though he would cover his ears if that could block it out. But he could do nothing aside from his own attempts at grounding himself with his fingers into the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting down hard on the inside of his bottom lip trying to stem the flow of pointless pleads and pained whimpers.

Scotland pulled out and then pushed back in again roughly with a groan of pleasure. "Ye're too tight.", his lips were pressed harshly. England scratched and whined, thrashing with his hips in delicious panic while a thick long finger slid in alongside the throbbing presence already inside him. He'd thought the pain couldn't get any worse, but he was wrong. It felt like he was trying to split him in two.

Somehow, a second finger was added. As he was forced open again, England made a high, breaking sound making him groan and clench his hands. If he didn't think he would go so far, he was a fool. His body was cramping around the intrusion and pulsating for the fullness, trying to expel the unwanted flesh filling him.

It took the elder a long, aching moment inside that gripping heat, he grunted for the tightness while the younger was impossibly full and struggling to breathe.

"P-please, please, S-scotland," he moaned, begging, his voice was wrecked. He gave a broken-sounding whine, of something cracking beneath the unbelievable strain.

"Stop it..! It is too much… you'll t-tear me…you'll _break_ me..."

"Oh, lad, I thought ye had realized it by now," And Scotland couldn't help but laugh piercingly, plunging deeper into that impossibly tight and swollen grip, "That is exactly the point of all this." Tears were streaming down the boy's face, all thoughts of bravery and dignity forgotten as Scotland ruthlessly forced himself into him, breaking his flesh.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door interrupted the red-haired. England realized what was happening and squirmed. A glimmer of hope sparkled in his green eyes, he turned his head in order to glance up at Scotland; his eyes dazed. "Keep yer mouth shut." Scotland was still straddling him, but covered his mouth with one hand, and pinned his wrists with the other. Someone waited at the doorway, "Scotland. That's enough." It was Ireland. Scotland sneered fiercely, and resumed looking at the blonde pinned underneath him, "I'm almost done." He pronounced those words coolly, as for something trivial and irrelevant. Ireland heard his reply and left all of a sudden like he had come. England' eyes widened and darkened, filling with pure hatred and disgust. He gazed at the man above him with nothing but loathing. The elder nation reciprocated the gaze haughtily and it pleased him greatly that England wasn't so far gone that he couldn't hold onto his hate. Shall him remain that way: helpless and unable to do anything. Spreading his legs even more, Scotland's member entered him once again, the abuse from before eased his way a bit but the boy pinned under him still sobbed, trembling, and feeling his stretched flesh clench and pucker. The Scotsman's hands found old prominent bruises all over the small body, that had been worn into his skin until they had remained with familiarity. The brutal pace Scotland was setting was all about punishment and control; England clenched his fists and bit his lip and the inside of his already raw cheek to hold back the sounds escaping his mouth, and soon the bitter, metallic taste of blood invaded his mouth. He gave up begging and even struggling against the other, as Scotland mercilessly shoved himself into him harder and harder, and pounded fast into him, gripping his hips tightly. He merely stayed still, letting his tears streaming down his face; until Scotland got as deep as possible, and with a ruthless and pleased smirk on his thin lips came there, and did not move until he had completely emptied himself inside his younger brother. A dry sob came out from England's parted lips, as soon as he felt that unfamiliar fluid filling him, and gasped, eyes snapping open. The red-head man got slowly out of him but there was nothing the little boy could do as he felt drops of blood flowing down his thighs and pooling under him in a warm sticky mess. Licking up the salty tears on his wet cheeks, the Scottish man made his way up to the blonde's ear, who could only cringe and flinch involuntarily at the contact, "I'm all ye have." A murmur in his ear promised him. Scotland rose and left the room. England could taste blood; the copper-and-iron taste still clung to his senses, even after he had stopped biting his lip, even after he had shakily swallowed, trying to dilute the sharp taste. His world narrowed down, he endeavored to spread sweltering air into his starving lungs. True to his word, Scotland hollowed him from the inside out.

 _Always there, open and undying, always alive, always inside._


End file.
